Rogue
"Find me a target, I'm not picky." :- Rogue Tactical Analysis * Robin Hood: Fleet footed and equipped with composite longbows, Rogues act as snipers for the Talon. They can take down infantry with a few well placed arrows, and are also effective against light vehicles, though tanks are more tricky. * Directing the storm: These snipers, however, can also lay down spotting flares for Talon artillery. * Secret-seeker: Rogues are also infiltrators, capable of sneaking into buildings to perform acts of sabotage and steal guarded secrets. * Yet another sniper: Unfortunately, Rogues share the weaknesses of other snipers, being hard pressed to deal with large groups of infantry. They are also at a disadvantage against other snipers, being shorter ranged and lacking stealth. Background "That's it, then." David Eisenberg, agent in the service of the Talon, looked down at the rapidly cooling body. Sighing reluctantly, he pulled at the tungsten-tipped arrow from the chest wound, careful to avoid the still smoldering heated tip. The corpse was reluctant to reliquish the lethal projectile, requiring the Rogue to steady himself with a boot on the corpse's stomach. Finally, with a sick squelching noise, the arrow came free. Best to leave as little evidence as possible. The man's rifle was lying where it had clattered from his victim's lifeless hands not moments before. David studied it intently. Was it better he leave it, or take it with him? He looked the weapon over, hoping the sound of it dropping to the floor didn't alert the people in the room below. He listened carefully; three voices, at least, dialect indicating urban poor local to the area. Talking about events outside, ignorant of what had taken place just a few meters above. Fortunate. He looked the rifle over, his soldiering instinct recoiling at the poorly designed Italian weapon. After briefly considering leaving it based solely on not wanting to be associated with such a subpar piece of hardware, he decided to take it, and all the 6.5mm rounds he could find on the scene. Better that the authorities think it a random killing, instead of a benevolent intervention. Another concern. Identification. The man's wallet was in his faded jeans, and the rogue's deft hands extracted it and ruffled quickly through it. Money, identification, a few pictures, nothing special. The bills disappeared into one of the many pouches on the drab camoflague uniform, and after a moment of consideration the wallet went back into his pocket. Best make the body easier to identify. Less suspicious, less research put into the case. With the money gone, it would look like a simple robbery gone wrong, not to mention that it provided a nice green lining that could be put to all sorts of uses. The unusual nature of the wound wouldn't be a big deal. Looked like a hit with one of those smuggled Japanese carbines that would show up every few weeks in the hands of some gang member with connections. Besides, nobody would care about one crazy ex-Marine. Or former Marine, rather. Ex-Marines are only those that get kicked out, and hardship discharges don't count. David allowed himself a brief moment of reminisance. Marines could be so picky about that sort of thing, though he suspected they'd start a bar fight over most anything. This guy had to have balls of Talon steel, though, to try and take a shot from here. David flicked down his rangefinders, a bizarre looking device that resembled a pair of binoculars with lenses six inches from either side of the wearer's head. The target was maybe only eighty metres away, broad daylight, lots of witnesses. Had David got there even a second later, the results would have been indisputable, though he couldn't help but think that a better shot could be taken from the hill to the right. Lower angle, facing up the street more, target would move slower in the crosshairs. Just speculation, of course. It was a sin to kill a fellow Catholic. Only one thing left to do. Taking a heated knife from its sheath, David rolled up the sleeve of the would-be assassin. There, marked on his right bicep, was the tell-tale tattoo, a black scorpion tail curved and ready to strike. He burned the offending symbol from the corpse's arm, and after briefly inspecting his handiwork, left as quietly as he came. Somewhere up the street, there was a US President who had no idea how close he had come to death. Behind the Scenes * Based on Robin Hood, obviously. Just the Stats Category:Units